


Got Me On My Knees

by Roxie Ann (pluvial_poetry)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bad Sex, Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, failed experiment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:16:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvial_poetry/pseuds/Roxie%20Ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"It seems like more fun in porn. It doesn't make sense. Your fingers; good. Your tongue; very good. Your cock; ehh."</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Written for <a href="http://badsexfest.livejournal.com/">Bad Sex Fest</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Me On My Knees

They didn't end every job this way; Eames showing up at Arthur's hotel room with a bottle of wine in hand, condoms and lube stashed in his pockets like Arthur is a sure thing. Though they have done it enough that Arthur had been expecting him. The supplies are different though. Five years that they‘ve been having sex, and this is the first time condoms have come into play. They generally stick to using their fingers and mouths to get each other off; no fuss, no muss. So no, they’ve never actually had sex; in the full-on penetrative sense. But Arthur had always kind of imagined that they would get around to it. In fact he’d planned on it. Eventually. When the time was right.

Apparently the time is right tonight, if the way Eames strips them both and maneuvers Arthur over the side of the bed after a few drinks is anything to go by. Arthur is okay with that; in fact, he actively encourages Eames to put him where he wants him and do whatever he wants to him. Being fucked like that even seems like a good idea, at first. Arthur and his prostate; hell, _Eames_ and Arthur's prostate are good friends by now. His dick is hard, he's all lubed up, they're doing this and it's...

Not quite what Arthur expected. It's substantially filling, in a bizarre way, in a _this does not belong in my body_ way. And no matter how Eames seems to angle his thrusts, they're nowhere near anywhere that's going to hit Arthur's prostate, which Arthur had assumed was kind of the whole point. Arthur's not disappointed, he still gets off in the palm of Eames‘ hand, his grip working tight and fast around Arthur's cock. It's definitely not the worst sex he's ever had. Not even in the top ten. But it's not great either. Arthur just doesn't get it.

"I just don't get it," he complains to Eames, who's flopped over on his stomach, sweaty and beaming at Arthur from his side of the bed. "It seems like more fun in porn. It doesn't make sense. Your fingers; good. Your tongue; very good. Your cock; ehh."

Eames' whole body stiffens then, as he shoves himself up to his elbows, a puzzled look on his face. "I must have misheard you. Did you honestly utter 'ehh' in reference to my cock just now?" 

"Only in comparison to your fingers and your mouth," Arthur says, distracted, still contemplating the mysteries of sex. So he misses when Eames' puzzlement switches over to annoyance. Until Eames rolls out of bed, with a distinctly disgruntled huff. "What?"

Eames doesn't look over at him, busy snatching his clothes up from the floor. "I think my cock, mediocre as you seem to find it, and I would be better off in my own room tonight."

"Eames, come on. I obviously didn't mean it like that," Arthur says, waving a dismissive hand. Eames always misinterprets everything he says as condescension; it's been a reoccurring factor in most of their fights, both professional and not-so professional. "What happened to wanting us to be able to speak honestly and openly about sex?"

That had in fact been a conversation that they'd had early on when they had first started hooking up; Eames unflinchingly holding his gaze as they went through their sexual histories, their likes and dislikes in bed. Eames had insisted on it, and he hadn't been wrong; this is the first serious sexual mishap they've ever had, not including that time in Madrid when Arthur's knee had accidentally bashed into Eames' cheekbone. It had left one hell of a bruise. Being maimed mid-blowjob had barely fazed Eames; Arthur doesn‘t exactly get why he‘s getting so worked up over something like this.

Eames sighs as he yanks his pants up over his hips. "Yes, Arthur, I would like you to be able to speak openly and honestly about the fact that you don't like to have your hands restrained or the fact that you're uninterested in experimenting with paddling. Your ambivalence with regards to my cock is another matter entirely."

"Are you being serious right now?" Arthur ask, sitting up and frowning. "You're really just going to leave?"

"Yes, I'm being serious and yes. I'm leaving," Eames says. He's not yelling and he doesn't even look angry any more. It's more like he's-- hurt. Arthur sucks in a breath, startled suddenly.

"Eames. I'm sor--" Arthur starts to say after a quick pause, but Eames is already out of the room. A few seconds later Arthur hears the outer door of his hotel room slam.

Arthur waits 10 minutes before he calls Eames' cell phone, slipping out of bed and into the shirt and sweatpants he sleeps in. Eames doesn't pick up, so Arthur leaves him an apologetic voicemail and hangs up. He stares at his phone for a minute then sighs, dialing the front desk.

Eames doesn't answer his room phone either.

Or his door when Arthur ventures down the hall to knock on it.

Arthur frowns at the door's handle. He's tried everything he can think of, other than going to the Radio Shack down the street and buying something capable of shorting out the electronic lock on Eames’ door. It's late. And he's starting to feel a little sore now; he hasn't even had a chance to wash the lube and come off of his skin yet. He should go back to his room, shower, try to get whatever sleep he can before he catches his flight home tomorrow. He and Eames can just talk whenever they see each other next, after Eames has had a chance to cool down, realize that he overreacted exponentially to what had been a minor misstep in an otherwise satisfying sexual relationship. That's a solid plan.

Arthur bangs on the door again. Hesitating, waiting for the sound of footsteps or for Eames to tell him to fuck off. But there's nothing.

Arthur closes his eyes for a second, suddenly exhausted. He could still leave. Or -- he thinks, he could just sleep on the plane tomorrow. Surprisingly it's an easy decision. He slides down, taking a seat on the floor, leaning back against the wall to wait for Eames.

Eames opens his door at a little past six in the morning, his duffle bag in hand, tensing with obvious surprise at finding Arthur out there. "Were you out here all night?" he asks. He sounds like he's impressed, but his expression is wary and defensive, his posture rigid.

Arthur shrugs. "You weren't answering your phone. Or the door," he says, by way of answering the question, levering himself up to his feet. "I didn't want to miss you."

"Look, Arthur. As much as I --" Eames stops, sets his bag down, scrubs a hand over his face. He starts again, more slowly. "I think I've made it very clear to you over the years that I have very few lines that won't stand crossing. Sex with someone who isn't attracted to me is one of them." 

He'd meant to lead in with another apology, but now Eames is just being ridiculous.

"Eames. I don't know what you heard me say last night, but it isn't what I actually said," Arthur says, shaking his head in blatant exasperation. "Not even close."

Eames rolls his eyes. "You're generally quite exacting with your words. Specific even. Frankly, I don't know how you could have been any more evocative than 'ehh'."

"How about this for specificity than?" Arthur asks as he leans in, Eames raising a single eyebrow in response. "I don't know if anal sex works for us. It wasn’t great for me last night, but I’m thinking we'll have to try it again, maybe in another position. And for the record? I do like your cock. I like it a lot. If you want me to, I'd be happy to prove it to you.” Arthur pauses, then adds, “Just not in the hallway."

Eames pins him with a pointed, assessing gaze before he shifts back, opens his door a bit wider. "I suppose you better come in then."

Arthur starts with Eames' mouth, just getting a taste of him as they stumble inside of Eames' hotel room and fall back against the door as it closes behind them. He grabs a handful of Eames' ass, tugging him in close, slotting their thighs together.

They make a slow start, their lips brushing together, every once in awhile one of them teasing at real pressure. Arthur is the first to open his mouth, to tentatively lick at Eames' bottom lip, looking for permission to enter. Eames grants it with a low groan, his fingers digging in to the meat of Arthur's upper arms. It gets harder to maintain that pace the longer the kiss goes on, Arthur's hips hitching forward of their own volition to rub up against Eames', the sound of their breath coming faster and faster over the wet, slick noises of their mouths sliding together.

Eames tangles his fingers in Arthur's hair, tilting his head to the side so that Eames can get at his neck, nipping sharply at the thin skin over Arthur's pulse as Arthur gasps. 

Breathing a little unsteadily, Arthur eases one of his hands down, cupping Eames' cock through his pants, stroking it through the fabric. 

"This okay?" he asks, and Eames nods his acceptance against Arthur's throat. He's sucking at Arthur's skin hard enough to bruise, but then, that was probably the idea.

Arthur rotates them quickly, so that Eames is the one with his back pressed to the door, giving himself a brief respite. It's hard to concentrate with Eames' hands skimming over Arthur's body, groping here and there, and his mouth working that one spot just below Arthur's ear that Eames knows drive him crazy, but Arthur isn't going to complain. And anyway, it's not like he could forget the task at hand, so to speak. 

He looks down at Eames' belt buckle, fumbling a little with the clasp before he gets it undone, leaving it dangling between them as he pops the button and the zipper of Eames' fly. He shoves Eames' pants and boxers down as far as they'll go, pushing Eames' shirt up and out of the way as he gets to his knees in front of Eames, kissing a path down his hairy underbelly, over the black ink of his tattooed hipbones. He eases the bundle of Eames' pants and underwear down to his ankles, Eames' spreading his legs wider for him, as Arthur nuzzles his chin over Eames' balls, pressing little open-mouthed kisses to the base of his cock. He loves doing this, has always loved doing this. But especially for Eames, whose hands tremble where they grip at Arthur's shoulders, and who makes the most amazing low eager sounds as Arthur licks his lips, so close to his cock that Eames must have felt the warmth and damp of it.

And Arthur might be biased here, but he doesn't think so. He thinks Eames' cock must be objectively pretty by anyone's standards. Wide and uncut, plump and rosy at the head. It looks good, and it smells good, and it tastes-- He takes a deep breath, fidgeting on his knees, his mouth actually watering with how much he _wants_.

"How could you think that I wasn't attracted to you? To your cock?" Arthur asks, shaking his head in amazement. "Just look at it--" he means to say, but the words get slightly muffled as he eases forward to take Eames into his mouth.

Eames murmurs his name softly, not-so-softly tugging at Arthur's hair, as Arthur begins to bob his head. The way Eames' cock twitches between his lips is unnecessary encouragement to keep going as Arthur tenderly sucks and tongues at Eames' slit, the little bursts of precome that Arthur teases out of him sliding easily down Arthur's throat.

Eames is unapologetically vocal the whole time; spouting all kinds of filthy nonsense and desperate pleas, moaning shamelessly enough that Arthur's sure that there will be noise complaints about this room to the front desk. Eames' fingers can't seem to keep still, sliding down over Arthur's jaw, pressing down lightly on Arthur's cheek, where Eames must be able to feel the shape of Eames' cock moving beneath the pads of his fingers. Arthur reaches down to adjust his own hard-on, full and heavy, tenting out the front of his sweatpants obscenely. He only lingers a little over the touch, before turning his full focus back to Eames' pleasure, to making Eames come.

Besides, the process of getting Eames off is pretty enjoyable in and of itself. It's almost a shame when it only takes a few hard more sucks before Eames' balls go high and tight, his groans rising in pitch as he shudders and comes in Arthur's mouth.

Arthur swallows slowly as he pulls back, pressing Eames' hips back from where they'd still been rocking forward. He holds Eames' cock steady then, licking all around and under Eames' foreskin, gathering the taste before Eames, over-sensitized and wobbly, stops him with a grin.

"Apology accepted," Eames offers, winded and laughing as he gives Arthur hand up, easing his sweatpants down past his ass as he goes. Eames is sweaty and sex-flushed, and Arthur is so fucking hot for Eames that he can barely stand it, Eames’ parted lips a temptation that Arthur can't resist. He lunges forward, Eames meeting him in the middle, his mouth lazy and sloppy on Arthur‘s, a hand pressing into the small of Arthur's back, urging him closer, until his cock rests in the groove of Eames' hip. Eames secures his shirt more firmly underneath his armpits, as Arthur's dick rides across the sweat slick expanse of skin of his groin, Eames sighing happily against Arthur's mouth as Arthur's thrusts slam him repeatedly back against the door, wild and out of control.

"Oh, fuck, fuck," Arthur gasps as he comes all over Eames' stomach, his orgasm high and hard and electrifying, Eames licking the words right out of his mouth as Arthur shakes against him. Arthur collapses when it's over, pinning Eames to the door, blinking away the black spots clouding over his vision.

"I'll miss my flight if I don't head out soon," Eames murmurs, easing Arthur away regretfully, bending over to drag his pants back up.

Arthur nods, scratching at yesterday’s dried come on his torso, letting the wall support his weight as Eames shuffles into the bathroom and comes back with a wet washcloth that he uses to carefully wipe them both down before he abandons it with a wet plop on the desk.

"You'll be in Gothenburg with us next month, right?" Arthur asks as he sluggishly tucks himself back into his pants, watching Eames from under his eyelashes as Eames attempts to put himself back in order. It doesn't really work, he's very obviously still recently well-fucked; his hair sticking up in sweaty strands, his mouth bitten and pink, a musky, dark scent clinging to his skin. It looks fucking fantastic on him, Arthur thinks with a little fond smile.

Eames glances over at him as he does up his belt buckle. "I had planned on it. Why?"

"So we can try again," Arthur says simply. "I'll email you with the hotel information."

They still have issues that they'll need to work out, conversations that they’ll need to have, for the future. But for right now, they're both smiling when Eames kisses Arthur good-bye and that's good enough. Better than Arthur could have planned it.

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to have accidentally written another fic devoted to Eames' cock. Whoops.


End file.
